American Gods is possibly one of the greatest books ever written. Not because of its prose, not because it is an evolutionary book of its time, but because it is the most bizarrely conceived idea that is presented in an almost plausible manner with that magical ingredient: the story weaving ability of Neil Gaiman. I loved this book, truly. The story centres on the character of Shadow who is about to be released from prison and is eager to get back to a life and, above all, back to his wife. Two days before he is due to be released Shadows wife dies tragically in a car accident. On the journey home from prison to attend his wife’s funeral Shadow meets the enigmatic Mr Wednesday who offers him a job. Having nothing of his old life remaining to go back to Shadow reluctantly agrees to the offer on, what he believes are, his terms. Mr Wednesday takes Shadow to a bar where he drinks three glasses of mead to “seal the agreement” and the pair meet Mad Sweeney; a leprechaun and an alcoholic. From then on nothing in Shadows life is conventional as we follow him on the path of Mr Wednesday’s agenda to a surprising and satisfying conclusion. I could rave on about this book but I would not want to spoil the plot for you. Needless to say it has won the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award and the Locus Award. This book is pure Gaiman; its book heroin. I was reading it on the toilet, on the tube, during my tea breaks, during commercial breaks, in fact any spare minute that I had was spent reading this book I enjoyed it that much, and now my girlfriend is suffering the same fate. I would recommend this read in a heartbeat.